Page 36 of Shattered In Darkness

I advance, crowd her into the wall, blocking every escape route. She’s cornered. She looks everywhere but at me. My reflection wavers in her pupils, a wolf’s silhouette. She’s not ready for what’s in me tonight.

“You know why I’m here.”

I close in, until there’s nothing between us. My fists clench and unclench. My pulse is a sledgehammer. Richard’s words spin through my skull: she’s in it, she’s in the photos, she’s his little spy.

Her eyes squint in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I take a step closer, looming over her like a raging monster. “Don’t act fucking stupid. Were you at the parking garage? Or the car accident?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Brody. If you’re here to play games, please don’t. I’m not in the damn mood.” She tries to push past me, but I grab her elbow and whirl her around. Before she can protest, I pin her against the wall, similar to how we were at the club. “Brody, stop,” she says. It’s a low plea. “You’re scaring me.”

“You should be scared,” I tell her. “You should be fucking terrified. Who are you working for, Lola? What did you do?”

She laughs, a quick sound. “What, you think I’m some kind of criminal mastermind now?”

I see the way her arms cross over her chest, the way her fingers dig into her biceps to hold herself together.

“You’re always there,” I say. “Always at the center. You, the company, the same mess every fucking time. Explain that.”

She flushes, red bleeding up her neck. “I don’t owe you shit.”

I brace an arm beside her head, hand flat against the wall. Caging her in.

She flinches, then sets her jaw. “Get out,” she whispers.

I lean closer. “Make me.”

Her eyes go wide. I can hear her heartbeat now, see it flutter under the skin of her throat.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she lies.

“You should be.”

My other hand finds her jaw, tipping her face up. She shudders, but doesn’t pull away.

“You want to know what I think?” I say. “I think you’re hiding something. I think you’re dirty, just like the rest of them. You’ve got blood on your hands, Bambi. You just don’t want to admit it. Maybe you even like it.”

She tries to gain leverage by slamming her knee into my thigh. Useless.

“That’s cute,” I say. “Did Marcus teach you that, or did you pick it up at the club?”

She goes cold, then angry. “Fuck you.”

I chuckle. “Keep telling yourself you’re not like them. Keep pretending you’re not on your knees for the next guy who cuts your check.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Who do you think you are?” she says, voice shaking. “Barging in here, acting like you know anything about my life? You don’t know shit, Brody. You never did.”

I lean in until our lips almost brush. I can taste the heat coming off her. “I know everything I need to,” I murmur. “I know you can’t stop wanting me even when you should. I know you’re a fucking liar, Lola.”

She shoves at my chest. I don’t budge. “You’re insane,” she hisses. “Marcus was right. You really were always just a violent, psycho brute.”

The words hit harder than I want to admit. “Could a violent, psycho brute make you cum like I did?”

She gasps. Outrage, shock, maybe both. Her body betrays her before her mouth does. Her thighs press together. She wants to hate me. Maybe she does, but not enough to stop me.

I slide my hand down, palm rough on her bare hip beneath the thin sweatshirt. Finding the elastic at her waistband, I tug just enough to slip my fingers inside. She fights—one pathetic, useless push—but she’s already melting, already shivering. I crowd her against the wall.